


A Matter of Disagreement

by noblydonedonnanoble



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'll just leave a generic disclaimer here about how these characters are not my property because they're legit people and it is not my intention to hurt them and this is all fiction etc. etc.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Matter of Disagreement

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just leave a generic disclaimer here about how these characters are not my property because they're legit people and it is not my intention to hurt them and this is all fiction etc. etc.

                When discussing how to stage their performance, David and Catherine are generally in agreement. "Generally," being the key word.

                "I just don't think it suits the scene."

                Catherine frowns. "Doesn't suit the scene? They're both all over the place emotionally. For the first time in the play, they confess their love for each other and I think under the circumstances, it would happen. Not as lengthy as the final scene, but it should be there."

                "No, because—"

                "For fuck's sake, if you say—"

                "Shakespeare wouldn't have done it that way." Even as the words come out of David's mouth, he attempts to scoot farther away from Catherine in order to allow a minimal amount of violence to accompany her inevitable exasperation.

                Unfortunately, they are sitting on her sofa, so she just has to lean over farther to smack him in the back of the head. "This might be difficult for you to grasp, but you're not Shakespeare. And besides, he was writing in the 16th century. That's not when our production is taking place, is it?"

                "Perhaps we changed that today while you were in the loo."

                "And set it in the 16th century. Right, okay."

                "Yes. So we should stick to one kiss like Shakespeare intended."

                She purses her lips and only barely refrains from hitting him once again. "I think he intended to include _at least_ that kiss, but he left this spot open for interpretation. And you're not the only one with a valid interpretation of this play."

                "Yours might be valid, but mine is proper."

                "If you're willing to concede that they're both valid—which impresses me, by the way, perhaps this is a moment of personal growth—I suggest that we run the scene tomorrow with the kiss and without it, and then we can all decide _collectively_ whether it belongs there."

                David hesitates. "I really don't know if that's such a good idea."

                "Fucking hell, David, do you realize how irrational you're being?" When he doesn't respond, Catherine gets up with a grunt and turns, holding out a hand to David. "Up you go."

                Although he is puzzled, he takes her hand and allows her to pull him up. "Why? Are you kicking me out over this? Because if you want to talk about irrational—"

                "No. Grab your script. If you don't want to run this scene with everybody, I want you to prove me wrong right now."

                "Catherine, I really think this is unnecessary."

                "That's just as good as deferring to my superior judgment and agreeing to leave the kiss in."

                He grimaces and picks up his script, but it's still quite clear how reluctant he is. "I don't appreciate being coerced."

                "Don't think of it as coercion; think of it as…" She pauses and eventually cocks her head to the side and shrugs. "Alright, it's coercion. Let's start from, 'Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?'"

                David clears his throat. "Catherine—" She glares at him. "Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?"

                "Yea, and I will weep—"

                Although he concedes that he is easily coerced, David doesn't see the point in this. A kiss doesn't belong in the scene. She will not be able to convince him regardless of how many times they run it—with or without a kiss.

                They can't do a kiss.

                He's not sure he can handle a kiss.

                "—I was about to protest I loved you."

                David swallows and says, "And do it with all thy heart."

                Catherine gazes up at him and he cannot read her expression as she murmurs, "I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest."

                When collaborating on the staging, everyone—aside from David, who had made his opinion known from the beginning that the kiss did not belong—had agreed that Beatrice should be the one to initiate their kiss, as a way of finally accepting her love for Benedick. And so Catherine reaches up, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him down to her level for a kiss. Her intention is it to kiss him softly, gently, briefly. Just for the sake of making her point.

                Nothing about the kiss is soft, gentle, or brief. David grabs her at the waist and pulls her flush against him, after which point his right hand travels up to knot in her hair, deepening their kiss in the process.

                He nips on Catherine's bottom lip, sucks on it for a moment before his tongue is there, timidly requesting access (the only moment of timidity). The request is unnecessary because she gives into him without thought, without question.   

                There is a sense of pretense that has not simply been dropped, but has been decimated.  And so the kiss continues, as David and Catherine forget their surroundings, as they forget themselves.

                But she does not forget herself for long, and as soon as she has had time to process the scene that is unfolding, she pushes him away, stepping back to leave space between them and looking down, immediately becoming bashful and… scared? David cannot possibly imagine Catherine being scared. "Remember when I said I wasn't kicking you out?"

                Is this a trick question? "Y-yes?"

                "I've changed my mind. Please leave now."

                "I don't—"

                She looks up and the anger in her eyes destroys him. Because he cannot look at her eyes, he looks at her lips. Her swollen lips, swollen because his mouth was on hers seconds before and no, he can't look there either. He zeroes in on her nose and stares at it as she says, "Leave. You are in my flat and I no longer want you here. We can continue this discussion at the theater tomorrow."

                "But don't you think—"

                "No. Go."

                Tears are welling up in her eyes, and while David is not entirely oblivious, he has no idea how to respond, no idea what to say to possibly make it better—mostly because he doesn't know where he's gone wrong. So he clears his throat uncomfortably and says, "Alright. Tomorrow, then. Have a good evening, Catherine."

                With David gone, she allows herself to cry. She is utterly disgusted with herself for allowing her emotions to get the better of her, to give into her attraction to David. She has been pushing this attraction aside for so long that she often forgets about its existence. At this moment, though, she's acutely aware of it. The feel of him pressed against her lingers, as does his taste on her tongue.

                She feels certain that she's made a fool of herself. But at the same time, David perpetuated it, and that makes her angry with him. _He's not in a position to be snogging me_ , she thinks.

                But she doesn't like being angry with David, so that makes her even more angry with herself.

                When Catherine arrives at the theater the next morning, she is still angry. Almost immediately, David mentions their discussion. The first part of their discussion, at least. "We spent a while weighing the pros and cons, and finally came to the conclusion that—"

                "There shouldn't be a kiss there." Catherine ignores the look that he shoots her, and continues. "It doesn’t suit the scene."

                "So you're now in agreement with David."

                "But I'm no longer in agreement with her," he blurts. "I think we should have a kiss."

                Everyone else simultaneously groans. "You said you would work this out."

                At the same time, David and Catherine respond, "We have." He clears his throat and she begins coughing and the two of them make a massive effort to look anywhere but at one another.

                "Evidently not. Let's come back to it, alright? For now, we'll back up and work on the beginning…" Something on which the two of them can agree.

                They delve into specifics that morning, but neither David nor Catherine is fully invested; their focus simply dissipates as time goes on, and lunch break is called half an hour early because of it. Immediately, Catherine strolls up to David and mumbles, "Fancy a chat?"

                "Over lunch?"

                She is in favor of this suggestion. Together, they depart, and go around the block to a small restaurant which they have begun to frequent during their breaks… though the mood is generally far more upbeat and cheerful than on this particular day.

                Catherine breaches the subject first, and he is grateful. "I apologize for asking you to leave last night."

                "Why _did_ you ask me to leave?"

                "Why did _you_ snog me as though the world was about to end?"

                He freezes and she is looking at him so sternly that he has to avert his eyes. "I confess that my acting might have been a bit overzealous."

                "Your acting was overzealous? David, whoever you were when you kissed me last night, it wasn't Benedick. That wasn't acting. I should hope that I know you well enough to see when you're acting."

                "Yes, I suppose you do…" She looks at him expectantly and he shrugs. "I really don't see what it is you'd like me to say."

                Catherine frowns. "I think I was hoping you'd repeatedly tell me that I was wrong until I believed it. Shame. But now, I suppose an explanation would be lovely."

                After an extended pause, during which time David takes a large bite of food and tries to pretend that she isn't staring him down as he chews and swallows, he sighs. "You know, I still do think that a kiss doesn't belong in that scene. Legitimately, now."

                In a monotone, she says, "Legitimately. As opposed to what?"

                "Can you really not tell?" he exclaims. Desperately. He needs her to understand without his having to explain, so that he doesn't have to admit to anything.

                "I don't understand where you're going with this."

                He lets out a groan and runs a hand through his hair. "Christ, I… do you know how hard it is for me to stop myself from kissing you like that every time I so much as look at you? Maintaining my control during the final scene is going to take enough resolve."

                Catherine grimaces and looks away. "If you're going to lie, you may as well come up with something better than that."

                "And if I'm telling the truth?"

                "Then it'd have been better if you had lied about it."

                "Do you know how hard it was for me to get up the nerve to say that? And you're telling me you'd rather I had lied."

                She nods. "Yes."

                David doesn't respond; he simply looks at her from across the table, a small frown lingering on his face. As his remark sinks in entirely, Catherine flushes—despite her guilt, despite the fact that she's incredibly distraught to hear him say words that he cannot possibly mean, she can't deny to herself that there's something thrilling about him being afraid to kiss her multiple times in each performance because he doesn't think he possesses the self-control to stop.

                But he still should not have told her. He still should have kept it to himself. And with that thought in mind, she murmurs, "Can we forget about this, David?"

                He hesitates, but something about her expression pushes him to respond with a, "Yes. If you'd like."

                And so she forces a smile, and he forces a smile, and they eat the rest of their meal accompanied by small talk. When they return to the theater, the two of them announce that they have agreed that their confession of love will not be accompanied by a kiss.

                Though David and Catherine agreed to forget about David's confession, neither of them can think about much of anything else.

                She lies in bed that night, wondering how long he's felt this way.

                David… well, he does what he must in order to forget the disgusted face that she made when the words came out of his mouth. Despite his best efforts, the image remains.

                Rehearsal the following day is tense. Catherine attempts to act as though nothing is wrong. David, on the other hand, is bitter and cold and Catherine is grateful that they are spending the afternoon on scenes without him. Before he leaves, however, he attempts to pull her aside. "Fancy a chat?"

                "Not now, David," she mumbles, looking away.

                "When?"

                All he receives in return is a noncommittal shrug, but he's not going to fight her in front of the entirety of the cast, so he says his goodbyes and goes out to his car.

                That evening he arrives at her door. When Catherine opens it and sees him standing there, hands shoved into pockets and sheepish grin on his face, she can hardly believe her eyes;  it is largely due to her shock that she allows him over the threshold.

                "Is now a better time?"

                Catherine glances at the clock. "It's nearly midnight. You waited until midnight for a chat?"

                "Well, I got a bit tied up."

                "I see." She raises her eyebrows at him. "So you finally got untied, and saw fit to show up at my flat and have a chat."

                Although she does not invite him to do so, David squeezes past her and heads into the kitchen. "If I didn't, you would keep putting me off, and we can't have that. Come on, have a drink with me."

                "I don't drink!" When he leans into the doorway and reveals that he's pulled a bottle of cranberry juice from the refrigerator, she allows herself to smile briefly—blink and you'd miss it—and follows in his wake.

                David sets two wine glasses onto the counter and makes a big show out of pouring the juice into each of them. "This one, I hear tell, is an absolutely exquisite year," he remarks as he hands her one of the glasses.

                She swirls it and takes a sip. "Oh, very much so. Has anyone ever told you that you've got marvelous taste?"

                "Not often enough."

                "Oh, wipe that grin off your face, go on," she says, smacking him affectionately on his cheek. "I know you like to tease me about my constant vigilance in avoiding alcohol, but that's certainly not why you're here. What is it?"

                Both of them know, but she clings to the miniscule hope that he might think better of himself and say nothing. "I can't forget. And even if I could, I don't want to."

                And so he didn't think better of himself. She sinks down into one of the kitchen chairs, taking an extensive gulp of juice as she does so. She regrets changing the subject, and would rather be discussing the merits of different types of cranberry juice right about now. "Forget what, David?"

                "Catherine…" He perches on the edge of the chair across from her. "Don't do this. Even with you looking at me like that, you're still beautiful, you know that?"

                "Fucking hell, I am not hearing this."

                "I'm not going to let you cover your ears and make it go away! This isn't something to forget about."

                She raises her eyebrows. "Oh. _This_ isn't something to forget about? What gives you the right to decide what we forget and what we remember?"

                David's eyes widen. "Catherine… I didn't even think… I just assumed…"

                "You left while I was still sleeping. I can take a hint."

                "That's not… You don't understand. You and Twig were having enough problems as it was. I didn't want you to wake up and—"

                "I was already awake, you prawn!"

                He snickers. "Did you really just call me a prawn?"

                "Would you prefer 'prat'? Because that's really only the difference of a few letters, and is perhaps more accurate. I spend years doing my best to forget, and then you drop this bombshell on me and you expect me to, what, fall into your arms immediately?"

                "They're very welcoming arms," he offers.

                Catherine's voice is shaking as she whispers, "What makes you so certain that I want to fall into those welcoming arms of yours?"

                "Because." David finishes his cranberry juice and sets the glass on the table before leaning forward, holding her gaze the entire time. He gestures that she lean closer as well, and she does. "I know that you weren't acting, either."

                A flush rises in her cheeks and she immediately pulls away. "Why now? Why leave me wondering for so long? Twig and I have been done for a long time."

                "What if you hadn't felt the same? I assumed that even if you remembered that night, you never brought it up because you would rather _not_ remember. And if I had done anything to bollocks up our friendship, I felt fairly certain that you would have killed me. This is the first time you've given me confirmation."

                "I haven't given you confirmation. I've said nothing." Her discomfort finally overwhelms her, prompting her to rise from her seat and go to lean over the sink. Anything, so long as it's not looking at him.

                Before he can think better of it, David gives into the urge to jump out of his seat and follow her. He rests his hands on her waist, and when she doesn't squirm, he presses closer and whispers into her ear, "You haven't _said_ anything, maybe, but you've still told me everything. And I think it's time we both stop lying, both stop 'forgetting.'"

                Catherine turns around in his arms, leaning against the sink and craning her neck so that she could look him in the eye. "How poetic of you, David. I didn't know you had it in you."

                "Only do because of you." As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he frowns slightly and becomes pensive. "I think you might be right, Catherine; if I willingly say things like that, then perhaps I _am_ a prat."

                "Well, if we're both in agreement on that count—"

                This time, Catherine has no intention of making their kiss soft, gentle, or brief.  


End file.
